the coal on your fingertips
by rizahawkeyed
Summary: "Don't you have an assistant for that?" He thinks quickly of Riza and smiles. She'll be happy to have her load lightened and she'll be glad he found even a minor loophole in his task. [Royai, Edwin, Lingfan, AU]


"What you need to ask yourself is if, under any other circumstances, you'd do it," she says, stirring her coffee. His expression twists and she knows as well as he does that he wouldn't, but it's difficult to cast it so black and white. Roy's face collides with his palm and Riza sighs, setting her mug down. "I'm not saying don't do it, Sir. Just acknowledge whether or not it's wrong."

His dark eyes flicker up. Despite his ability to read her voice like a book, he watches her expression carefully to know how serious she is.

"You know I wouldn't," he huffs, straightening his coat. Riza nods and waits for the rest of his thought that he's bitten off. "How far down do you think they'll knock me if I don't, though?"

"Far."

"That's what I thought."

He peers out the window and looks at the men in the workyard, heaving bricks overhead to hobble them over to the large pile at the end of the yard. There is a blanket of snow nestled against the dampened grass outside, punctured by the men's boots. Each time a brick is placed, Roy can see their eyes for a split second. They look up into his window to assure him that they've worked hard. That they did their very best and, in turn, they deserve to stay and please him further.

"You used to be out there, too," she reminds him. Roy tears his eyes from the window and forces them to rest on his assistant's face. He remembers the days well, but those days are over. Some young upstart in a red velvet chair decided he was worth keeping, and now that his calloused fingers run over the bristled material, he remembers the touch of ice cold brick far better.

_Half of them go, Mustang. You've got ten hours to take a good look at fifty of these boys, and when I get back, I want twenty-five in the yard. _

When he was in the yard, more than half were kicked out. It took an embarrassing amount of effort not to double over and thank the heavens for whatever young man decided he was worth it.

"How do I know which ones to keep, though?" One boy doubles over and struggles back to his feet, but from the window, his bloodied hands are obvious. Roy bites his lip and throws away his frown.

"Look them in the eyes, if you ask me, Sir," Riza hums, finishing off her mug of coffee. She sticks her pen into the blonde knot at the back of her head and stands, straightening her dress. "That's likely how they chose you. Go out there and look them in the eyes and look for something in them."

"Like what?"

Riza pauses, looking out the window idly. A chill runs up her spine just looking at the snow, but her eyes fall back down to his. They lock for a moment before her lips curve at the side in a smile as warm as the coffee on her tongue.

"Fire."

His assistant's heels click in the hallway as she leaves for the day and Roy slinks back into his chair, taking deep breaths. His knuckles grip hard over the armrests until they're white and he grits his teeth. _Go out there and look them in the eyes_, she says. It's a simple notion, but he's the one who has to execute it, a far less simple task. They know who he is, what he's in charge of. They know that he decides their fate. Men don't come to work for Bradley Construction if they had anywhere else to go. He didn't, Riza didn't, and none of these men did, either.

Still, he walks out to the yard and leans against the building to get a closer look at each and every one of them. The women can come directly into the office jobs, though those aren't exactly a walk in the park, but the men are stuck in the yards until they impress someone. Roy takes a crumpled bit of paper from his jacket pocket and gives each man a number. He wasted away five of his ten hours in the company of his assistant, and he has five hours left to fire half of them.

With a deep breath, he shoves the anxiety to the back of his mind and begins scratching at numbers.

"Name?"

"Jean Havoc."

Roy nods and pats the blond man on the back, giving him a quick smile.

"Name?"

"Underman."

Dark eyes search the paper, but he already remember that this one was a 'no'. He shakes his head and it's as though the boy's face darkens entirely, but he sulks away without a fight. The line continues and he gets to smile at least at a few more faces. Fuery, Breda, Falman, Brosh, Yao; they're all adequate workers, even if they aren't the strongest, but he gets to the end of the line and sees two golden-haired boys, likely far too young to be anywhere near the workyard. He recognizes the smaller of the two as the bloody-handed boy from earlier, and the older one is riddled with prosthetics and frowns.

"Name?"

"We're both Elric," the older says briskly. Roy shakes his head without looking. He remembers well. For their safety, he let them go.

A moment passes when the younger one slowly realizes what the small movement of his head means, and he crumples into the smattered snow, just like before. Roy leans to offer him a hand when a fist collides with his cheek.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" the older boy snaps, gripping Roy hard by his collar. His eyes are swimming in hatred and desperation as the younger Elric boy clings to his brother's leg.

_Look them in the eyes. Look for something in them. Like what? Fire._

It's burning so bright in the older Elric's eyes he can practically feel it singe him at the edges. Roy shoves him off and frowns. Policy says to turn him out for assault, but Roy's stomach clenches. He's already kept twenty-five, but he grabs Elric by the shirt collar and drags him into the office building.

From the way he looks at his surroundings, it's clear the boy has never been anywhere so nice. He throws himself into a chair and Roy Mustang does not offer coffee or tea. He didn't offer him a seat, either, but that doesn't seem to stop him.

A second look at his skin practically hanging from his bones forces him to toss his plate of crackers down before the oldest Elric. He doesn't hesitate to put half in his mouth and the other half in his coat pocket, surely for his brother.

"I could have you arrested for hitting me, Elric," Roy snaps. "You're not qualified to keep working. I could probably check some sources and see you're underage. You don't have enough muscle on you to lift all day and there's no way Bradley will respect my decision to keep a kid who can't lift and can't hold his own out here. You have a clear temper problem, among other things…"

Aside from the similarity of their eyes, there isn't much they have in common. When he started, Roy wasn't nearly this rough around the edges. He wasn't this out of control. He had a clear goal and a clear point. This boy came to make enough money to survive, but he doesn't know what he's doing. He's in over his head. He'll be eaten alive in the workyard.

"You're going to be my paperboy," Roy smirks. The Elric boy frowns and chews on the title, tasting its insignificance.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he spits.

"You make copies for me, and you run my papers where I need them to go."

"Don't you have an assistant for that?" He thinks quickly of Riza and smiles. She'll be happy to have her load lightened and she'll be glad he found even a minor loophole in his task.

"Do you want to be on the streets?" Elric clamps his mouth shut, his lips jammed with a frown. "Go take food to your brother and go home for the day. Tomorrow at eight, be here and, I don't care how you do it, dress like you want to be."


End file.
